With Flowers In My Hand

I have walked a thousand miles

To see your face of stone.

Cried a thousand times before

As I have walked, alone.



I will walk until I die;

To see your place of rest.

Though my body struggles now

My heart feels what is best.



Each step I take, takes so long;

For I can barely stand,

But I will return to you

With flowers in my hand.



This poem was inspired by an elderly gentleman I saw, struggling, with a walking stick in one hand and flowers in the other. He was entering a cemetery. The rest is my imagination.